Its 1964 in the tiny town of Eastport, Maine, and Billy McCadie is bored to death. Shes surrounded by Jell-O salads and dull people with more etiquette than sense, with absolutely no sign of the intrigue or romance   that fill the pages of her beloved novel collection. That is, until an engagement ring and cryptic love letter turn up, addressed to Gertrude. 

As Billy gets pulled ever-deeper into in a bizarre and   stranger-than-fiction mystery that the local police cant begin to handle,   and despite sorely lacking Nancy Drews effortless charm or Miss Marples   social graces, she finds herself with no choice but to put on her detective   hat. But as the body count rises and the danger starts to feel ever closer to   home, why does it feel like shes much more than just a side character? Is   someone trying to mess with her, frame her, or write her out for good? And   after so long yearning to be in the action rather than reading it, and with   the only man with two brain cells in Eastport within her reach, would it be   so terribly unladylike for her to have some fun of her own?